


less sweat, more stress

by gayprophets



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, aggressive hatred of lululemon, barre class is a torture we inflict upon ourselves, elias' body tw, homophobic slurs (not directed at basira or daisy), i fucking hate rich people OKAY, i spent an unfortunate amount of time on lululemons website for this, me: (typing frantically) I DONT KNOW! I DONT KNOW!!!, my friends: what the FUCK are you writing???!, stupid twink crimes, the title is the lululemon slogan just switched, we have to eat the rich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21550432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayprophets/pseuds/gayprophets
Summary: There’s fewer people here than there was in her old evening class, and none of the familiar faces, but it’s still rather busy, people stretching and chattering softly to each other leaned against the barres or sitting on the pale grey marley floor. It’s still a few minutes before class starts, so Basira grabs a likely looking spot and makes sure she can still touch her toes. Someone walks over and takes the spot next to her, and she gives them a small wave without looking up.“Good morning, Basira,” they say, and Basira feels roughly like she did when her cousin made her do the ice bucket challenge.Elias Bouchard stands next to her, one hand on his hip, the other holding a white hydroflask.-basira bullies elias and then kisses daisy.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 61
Kudos: 472





	less sweat, more stress

**Author's Note:**

> basira calls elias a faggot in this. as a fag i am giving her a certified FaggotPass(TM) and she can legally say it now. if that bothers you just dont read this i guess! i tried to change it to another insult but theres really nothing quite so good.

The only barre class that works with Basira’s new schedule is, unfortunately, at ass o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. Conceivably, there _are_ workarounds for this: she could rearrange her meticulously plotted life a bit, change studios, or cut out barre class entirely. However, she _likes_ barre class, and needs it to stay in shape now that she’s not on the force anymore, and she knows that when her life is in upheaval (such as it is right now, being held _hostage_ by her new job), sticking to her routine with military precision prevents her from going off the rails entirely. So: barre class at 6:30 in the morning on a Saturday. _Hideous._

There are upsides - Daisy snuck into her flat sometime in the night and was already awake with coffee when Basira dragged herself out of bed, cursing her alarm and her life and the entire existence of mornings, which was a nice surprise. Daisy also came with her on the tube to get here, because there’s a doughnut shop that just opened a few blocks away that she wanted to try, and she roused Basira when _resting her eyes_ turned into a partial nap against Daisy’s shoulder. She’s just not a morning person.

Basira pats over her headscarf to make sure it’ll stay in place, then clutches her water bottle tighter and heads inside.

There’s fewer people here than there was in her old evening class, and none of the familiar faces, but it’s still rather busy, people stretching and chattering softly to each other leaned against the barres or sitting on the pale grey marley floor. It’s still a few minutes before class starts, so Basira grabs a likely looking spot and makes sure she can still touch her toes. Someone walks over and takes the spot next to her, and she gives them a small wave without looking up.

“Good morning, Basira,” they say, and Basira feels roughly like she did when her cousin made her do the ice bucket challenge. 

Elias Bouchard stands next to her, one hand on his hip, the other holding a white hydroflask. Everything he’s wearing _screams_ luxury: a cream colored loose fitting crop top with long, boxy sleeves, skimming the top of his extremely high-waisted black velvet leggings and revealing the tiniest sliver of milk pale skin. It’s an outfit that she’d find lovely on anyone else - even _Jon,_ who seems to cultivate his looks to be as unattractive as possible in purpose - but on Elias it just makes he want to scream _oh, come on,_ and then maybe punch him a few times for good measure. Elias’ hair is as perfect as it always is, his square teeth a blinding white. There are no bags or dark circles under his eyes: he looks like it isn’t ass o’clock on a Saturday morning, and he woke up hours ago.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he continues as he turns to put his _hydroflask_ down, and Basira spots the _lululemon logo_ on the back of both his leggings and shirt. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it. Good thing Miss Tonner came along, ah? How are you this morning?”

Basira, who is in her _least_ favorite headscarf, sweatpants from her secondary school’s football team, her oldest and baggiest shirt, and whose water bottle is a crinkled dasani bottle that she’s been carrying around and refilling for the past two weeks, opens her mouth to say something semi-pleasant back, but what comes out is; “Oh, _fuck_ off.” 

Her voice is much too loud, and all the pleasant conversation stops immediately.

He whips back around to face her, one perfectly waxed eyebrow arching dramatically, and Basira has one _wild_ moment where she considers punching him in the face as hard as she can. “Excuse me?” Elias says. He does not look like a man who nearly forgot to brush his teeth this morning and had to be reminded, or someone who has ever cracked their phone screen via whipping their phone across the room when their alarm went off.

“You heard me,” Basira says, still far too loudly, and a little hysterical. Everybody is looking at them, and she does not feel in control of the words that are coming out of her mouth. “Fuck off. I can’t fucking believe this. _‘Fancy meeting you here’,_ are you _kidding_ me, you -!” she pauses for a second, looking for words, her mouth opening and shutting noiselessly. “You look like a _fag,_ Elias. You look like someone’s alcoholic _aunt,_ holy _shit._ Don’t _ever_ talk to me again, you stupid _twink._ You disgust me.”

She picks up her water bottle and walks out, picking up her shoes but not bothering to put them on until she’s outside the studio. 

Daisy is exiting the doughnut shop when Basira finds her, a chocolate doughnut clenched between her teeth as she tucks a large paper bag under her arm and opens the door for a woman entering. Basira reaches out and yanks the doughnut from her mouth.

“What?” Daisy says, looking at her, seemingly a little dumbfounded. Basira bites into the doughnut like she wishes it had a jugular she could sever. “Did your class get cancelled?” She holds out her elbow for Basira to take, and they start walking back towards the underground. 

“No,” Basira says, swallowing thickly. “This is _really_ good, _wow._ No, Elias was there.”

Daisy stops walking, head snapping around to stare at her again. _“What?”_ she says again, angrier this time.

“It’s fine,” Basira says, tugging on her arm until they start walking again. “I told him he looked like a fag and to fuck off.”

Daisy makes a noise like a leaking balloon and has to lean against a building as she laughs, full body and snorting. She almost drops the doughnuts when she claps her hands together, and again when she wipes her eyes.

“It’s really not that funny,” Basira says, smiling and leaning next to her. “I have to find a _new studio,_ do you know how annoying that is? I _liked_ that one, the instructors were _so_ nice. I can’t ever show my face there again.”

 _“Basira,”_ Daisy says, gasping. “You are my _favorite.”_

Basira decides that there’s no way she can screw up her morning any more than she already has, so she takes Daisy’s flushed face in her hands and pulls her down the few inches so she can kiss her. _A little rejection on top of it all can’t hurt,_ she thinks, but then Daisy is kissing her back, her mouth soft and hot against her own. Daisy leans back after a few gentle seconds, eyes wide, a different sort of flush on her cheeks.

“You’re my favorite too,” Basira says, threading their arms together once again. “Take me home. I’m going back to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> all of elias' clothing can be found on lululemons website. he walked in wearing white leather gucci sneakers, if you were wondering. his outfit cost totals to $898, counting the hydroflask and not counting his grippy socks ($14) or the todd snyder italian wool mauve jacket he had on ($398). the hydroflask was custom. it was all purchased with peter lukas' money.
> 
> my friend: Being in that fucking class tough djdhdjsj it's 6am one of the regulars is nice to a new one and she just calls him a faggot and leaves  
> me: FJLDHLJSDKJKHFJ he doesn't even react after jndkhsdkj you go over to him and youre like "are you okay????" and hes like yes it's fine and youre like who was that?? and he's like "my employee"  
> my friend: "can't you fire her?" "What? No, why would I do that, shes great"
> 
> i will not be taking questions at this time.


End file.
